


art history is non-negotiable

by antikytheras



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Crack, Dubious Art, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, I've forgotten how to tag, M/M, alternate universe - akira goes to kosei, dubious art history, dubious everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 23:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11725188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antikytheras/pseuds/antikytheras
Summary: Akira never expected to end up studying somewhere like Kosei, and learning (dubious) art history to get on his crush's mentor's good side is just the icing on the cake.





	art history is non-negotiable

Forget, for a moment, that he’s not supposed to be here.

No, really. What’s a delinquent doing in somewhere like _Kosei_ , of all places? He’d probably be better off in Shujin, a little further down the line, where he’s already made friends with one Sakamoto Ryuji because neither of them are particularly good with directions but it would just-so-happen that the both of them, being the (apparent) rebels that they were, would be _particularly_ good at not-getting-killed by a psychological manifestation of someone’s kinkshame-worthy-fetishes, now wouldn’t it?

God, Sojiro is gonna _murder_ him.

Akira sighs, waiting alone in the principal’s office. Don’t make any trouble, they said. Don’t be dumb and play hero _again_ , they said. As far as he’s concerned, he hasn’t even _tried_ and he’s already a veteran at Pissing Off Authority.

Speaking of which—

A familiar woman enters the room. Akira’s already been introduced to Kosei’s principal, when Sojiro had hauled his ass down to settle his registration and then tried to intimidate him into playing nice. Oh, he’d play alright.

Principal Kobayashi is a stern, no-nonsense kind of woman, and she’s certainly dressed like one too. Akira has never met a lady who’d wear a suit as sharp as her stilettos to work.

‘I see you’ve taken the liberty of making yourself comfortable,’ she says calmly. It’s still enough to make his hairs stand on end.

Her sofa really is comfortable, though. So nice, so plush, so soft and perfect for his ass to sink into and never come out—

She turns her gaze onto him and right there and then, Akira decides that, you know what, it might be a good idea to play nice after all.

Akira jumps off before she can throw a shoe at him. It’d probably slice right through his brain. That thing is _sharp, god damn, how does she even walk_ —

‘Well? Explain yourself, Kurusu.’ She turns her back to him and begins to stride to her desk, separated from the sofa by a low coffee table. Said table comes up to around Akira’s knees.

‘I got lost,’ he tries. Short and sweet. Should work. Hopefully.

Immediately, she turns back to face him, her hands clasped behind her back. ‘How? You’ve been here before, haven’t you?’ Somehow, she makes him feel threatened without even having to be threatening. He gulps.

Thankfully, he’s got this one in the bag. ‘Sojiro drove me here last time,’ he explains, faking hesitation. Ease his way into it, smooth as butter. ‘I’m not used to Tokyo’s underground. It’s… a lot of stations, and there’s so many people, I didn’t even realise I’d missed my stop.’ He scratches at the back of his head and drops his gaze.

When he chances a peek upward, Kobayashi looks supremely unimpressed.

‘Let us speak frankly, Kurusu.’ Oh no, her arms are crossed, this might be bad. She seats herself at her table and beckons him closer.

He swallows the tension in his throat and slowly enters the principal’s trap. The space between the coffee table and the front of her wide wooden desk is terribly narrow.

‘I took you in because Kosei needed a… _fresh_ reputation, I suppose you could say.’ She frowns, and again Akira has to marvel at how this lady is all sharp angles and no lenient curves. Those eyebrows could kill a man.

‘I understand,’ Akira mumbles.

‘No, you do not.’ This lady is a _bitch_. ‘It is common knowledge in the district that Kosei has developed a reputation for being elitist, one which I will not tolerate. You are here so that the students can learn to expand their narrow, uncaring world views by interacting with you.’

And oh-ho, she’s revealed all the cards in her hand. Akira does his best to maintain a neutral expression. ‘So I’m here to get you brownie points? Is that it?’

‘Somewhat.’ Wow, he did _not_ expect that. ‘I’ve seen your grades, Kurusu. You were an honor student in your previous school, correct?’

Oh, well, no wonder she’d revealed herself so soon, she had dirt on him already. ‘Well. Yeah.’ The admission sounds lame, even to him.

‘I’ve followed the details of your case.’ She glares at him for good measure. ‘You are a supremely foolish boy to have thrown away your future for a moment of bravado. I will whip you back into shape and throw you into society a better man.’

That sounds downright awful. ‘And how do you intend to do that?’

Her tone has remained calm and even throughout their entire conversation, and it does not change even after he directly challenges her. ‘The student body is aware of your previous transgressions. It will be up to you to influence their opinions of your criminal past. I have informed your teachers to start you on a clean slate, which means that if you offend their sensibilities in any way, your privileges as a regular student may be revoked. On top of that, you clearly need to quieten your soul. Perhaps you should join the yoga club?’

Her precise, rapid-fire settlement of his imminent future really pisses him off. ‘No.’

‘How about art?’

Is she insane. ‘I can’t draw for shit, woman.’

‘Art it is.’ Fuck. ‘And mind your language, boy. The people here are not as tolerant of criminals as I am.’

 

 

 

 _@Ryuji_ : Dude, for real!?

@ _Akira_ : Yeah.

 _@Ryuji_ : I didn’t think you’d get in trouble on your first day…

 _@Akira_ : It’s fine. Neither of us could have predicted it.

 _@Ryuji_ : So what’s the plan?

 _@Akira_ : Go for art classes, I guess. Anyway, how are things with Kamoshida?

 _@Ryuji_ : Same old. I saw him hitting on Takamaki today.

 _@Akira_ : Takamaki?

 _@Ryuji_ : Yeah, sit tight, this might take a while.

 

 

 

Art turns out to be… not quite what he’d expected.

He’d suffered through an entire day of whispers behind his back while he’s _right there in class, I’m sitting right next to you, you dumbass,_ and he’s ready to haul his ass out of school and back into Kamoshida’s Palace if not for Principal Kobayashi’s threat hanging over his head like a noose.

A noose sounds pretty great right now, actually. Maybe he could draw a self-portrait, title it “Death of a Criminal: A Public Viewing” or something even more pretentious. He’s sure he could ask one of the arts scholarship kids for help.

Akira’s no expert on art, but he knows enough to expect a bunch of kids with their heads shoved so far up their asses that they’d somehow turned into a herd of ouroboros. What he does not expect is to open the door to the art studio and immediately find himself face-to-face with a painfully realistic painting of an ass consuming someone’s head.

‘What the actual fuck,’ is the quiet breath that explodes from his mouth.

‘Don’t kinkshame!’ is the shout that he gets in reply, somewhere vaguely from his left and approaching at an alarming speed. ‘This is a safe space, you hear? No kinkshaming while I’m around.’

Akira turns, and of all the people to be yelling about the sanctity of kinks, it’s _the teacher_.

He’s thrown so off-kilter that he even forgets to be rude. ‘Err— Right, sorry. I’m Kurusu Akira, the new kid—’

‘Ah! Say no more! I can see it!’ The teacher grabs Akira by the shoulders and hoists him up, spinning him around the room as if he were nothing but a grumpy puppy. Akira is rewarded with a spectacular view of the teacher’s styled hair. It makes him look kind of gay. Akira wouldn’t be surprised if he were gay. Either that, or he’s sworn off his virginity to Art. Art, with a capital A. That’s the kind of message his hair’s sending anyway, and if he doesn’t want people to think that about him then maybe the art teacher should, oh, hmm, maybe _put him down already_.

The teacher’s been blabbering about “fresh youth” and the “bright, flaming spirit of rebellion! Ah! Yes! I can see it now, so clear in my mind!” and other weird art hoe things for the better part of a minute now, and Akira is still spinning like a goddamn ceiling fan.

‘So you are here because you enjoy art, yes?’ the teacher’s grinning so big and wide and for just the slightest moment, Akira almost feels sorry for him.

Then he remembers that he’s been hoisted in the air for about a whole minute now and flushes any inkling of sympathy down the drain. ‘Yes, absolutely. I sure do love spamming control-Z and being underpaid.’

‘Perfect! You’ll fit right in! We’re all starving artists here,’ the teacher chirps happily and _finally_ puts Akira down on the ground. ‘I am Ukinoe, a once-idealistic artist whose hopes and dreams have been shattered by the harsh, capitalist ways of reality!’ He strikes a dramatic pose, contorting his spine and covering his face with one hand.

‘Uh, cool, so is that one there—’ Akira vaguely gestures in what he thinks is the general direction of the ass painting.

For some reason, Ukinoe looks horrified. ‘No, that is a student’s! I would never steal a student’s art!’

Is that supposed to make him special? ‘Gold star for you, buddy.’

‘So what would you like to start with?’ Ukinoe slides an arm over his shoulder and drags him around the room like they’re on a magic carpet ride. ‘We have all sorts! Paints, pottery, mixed media, anything goes.’

‘Pencil sketches sound good right now,’ Akira vaguely hears himself mumbling. If Personas existed, it wouldn’t be impossible for astral projection to be a thing too, right?

He can almost hear Arsene laughing at his desperation.

‘Lovely! You liked the painting at the door, yes? Then I will get Ahokusai to teach you—’

Hell no. ‘It’s okay, I think I want to, uhh, develop my own art style for now! Before I, uhh, learn from my peers. And stuff.’ His lying has really been plain awful today, hasn’t it?

There’s an audible sigh of relief from somewhere in the room. Must be the Ahokusai kid.

‘Independence! An admirable trait in an artist. I like that. You’ll go far, Akira!’

Sometime during Ukinoe’s flailing, Akira manages to slip out of his grasp and abscond to the other end of the room. Evidently, Ukinoe’s too caught up in the throes of passion for Art to give very much of a damn.

There’s someone quietly keeping to himself in the corner that Akira hasn’t noticed until now. He makes eye contact with the blue-haired boy, who’d evidently been watching the scene with no small amount of amusement swimming in his eyes. From slightly beyond his line of sight, his brush drips blood-red ink all over his easel and dark pants.

Akira finds his eyes tracing the path of the drop of paint, splattered on cloth curled snug, not tight, over one thigh, then curving down the gentle line of a knee and then dripping over to plain-black shoes hemmed by the edge of slightly-less-black (is that even possible?) uniform pants. The boy has pretty long legs. As in, pretty _and_ long. His face is kind of pretty too. Huh. Akira didn’t realise he was into the pretty, slender type.

The blue-haired boy is frowning when Akira brings his gaze back up to his face. Which means—

Shit. Did he get caught?

His palms begin to sweat. He tries to discreetly wipe them on his pants. Tries.

‘Oh,’ comes the quiet murmur of surprise, then the cute little frown of consternation as the boy appraises the state of his painting and his own pants.

He reaches for a box of tissues sitting on a tray full of paint-splattered art supplies and tries to wipe the angry stain off his thigh and shoe. It leaves a somewhat-less-angry red smear. The trail on his calf remains untouched.

The boy’s gaze switches to the painting, which Akira instantaneously recognises as a depiction of still waters on a green-blue pond awash with lotuses. A comet-tail of red tears across three tiny pink lotus buds.

For a moment, the boy is perfectly still in his contemplation of the ruined painting. Then he dips his brush into his palette with practiced ease, diving down in one smooth, graceful motion. His wrist is pale and bony. Akira stares at it. When he brings his wrist, and by association, his brush to the painting, there’s just the right amount of paint on the brush tip to scatter three more artfully placed red comet-tails.

He removes his brush and stares at the painting, completely lost in his own world, a masterpiece as elegant as his own improved work of art.

Akira decides, right there and then, that he’s going to have that boy. Sexually.

 

 

 

 _@Ann_ : Thanks for everything back there… I’m sorry that I ran off and caused all that trouble for you guys…

 _@Ryuji_ : Nah, don’t sweat it! We’re gonna beat Kamoshida’s ass in no time, now that we’ve got you and Carmen on the team!

 _@Akira_ : Glad to have you with us.

 _@Ryuji_ : You know, Akira, you were kind of distracted today.

 _@Akira_ : Was I? I didn’t notice.

 _@Ann_ : He seemed to be holding up just fine.

 _@Ryuji_ : He missed so many attacks! Almost had me worried for a second, buddy.

 _@Akira_ : Maybe I’ve just got something on my mind.

 _@Ann_ : Soooo, Akira… How do you know Ryuji anyway? You’re not from our school right? That uniform… It’s Kosei?

 _@Akira_ : You might want to get comfortable, this might take a while…

 

 

 

Akira finds himself willingly heading to the art studio after school. Principle Kobayashi is about as surprised as he is.

‘Ukinoe-sensei has been full of nothing but praise for you lately,’ she marvels. Any display of emotion from her is something of a minor miracle, so Akira thinks that he probably deserves to feel proud of himself.

‘Maybe your art therapy thing is working out,’ he suggests blandly, staring up at her as he climbs up the steps leading into school. It’s not like he’s having fun or anything, but he has to admit that the whole art thing isn’t so bad, even if it is interfering with his free time for the whole Kamoshida mess a little _too_ much for his liking.

She stares down at him, imposing as ever. ‘I am not unreasonable,’ she says, a warning in her voice as she crosses her arms (but not as tightly as before, Akira notes) and tilts her head toward the front doors of the school, a motion for him to get a move on. ‘I will overlook your late-coming today. Sojiro-san need not know about this. Don’t let it be a frequent thing, Kurusu.’

This particular threat hits him like a bullet to the brain. Sojiro had only just recently given him the keys to Leblanc, and Akira needed all the time and freedom he could get, dammit. ‘Understood. I’ll make my way to my first lesson now.’

‘Don’t disappoint me,’ Principal Kobayashi warns, and for once, Akira’s almost inclined to comply.

The morning hours seem to drag on and on. He correctly answers a random question sprung on him by a teacher, and he hears his classmates murmuring their surprise. He smiles to himself. He’ll have them in his pocket in no time.

The pretty art boy, though, is a different matter entirely.

Just like that, Akira’s mind latches onto his newest obsession and refuses to let go. He’s practically buzzing on the edge of his seat all throughout the last period. Since he’s being forced to spend his time in the art studio after school, he might as well make full use of it.

When he enters the large, open space, he makes sure to do so quietly this time, lest he incur the exuberant attention of Ukinoe once again. Akira has to acknowledge that Ukinoe’s unconventional methods produce some unexpectedly stellar results— with the nutjob around, the studio’s pin-drop silent, perfect for someone to sit down and concentrate on getting their work done. The only question is whether or not it’s intentional, in which case Ukinoe would be a genius pretending to be an idiot, otherwise Ukinoe would be, well, just an idiot, really.

Yusuke has parked his current project in a particular corner. It’s Akira’s fourth time visiting the art studio, and he’s starting to get the hang of where to put his foot so that he doesn’t flatten someone’s papier-mâché model of the universe.

Which he almost did on his second day, lost in thought about his newfound desire to be very good friends with a certain pretty boy until aforementioned pretty boy had swooped in and yanked him backward.

Akira most certainly had _not_ swooned in his arms.

‘My apologies, Washida.’ There was a nice feeling of depth to the pretty boy’s voice. Nice and low, right in Akira’s ears.

‘What are you apologising for him for, Kitagawa?’ the short kid grinned. ‘The criminal ain’t your kid. If he crushes my Andromeda he’s gonna sit right here and make me a new one.’

Kitagawa. What a nice family name. Really rolls off the tip of the tongue, doesn’t it? Kitagawa. Ki-ta-ga-wa.

The Kitagawa kid’s looking at him a bit warily. ‘You’ve said it three times now.’

‘Oh, sorry, I thought I’d heard it somewhere before,’ Akira smoothly covers over his slip with a lie.

Kitagawa visibly relaxes. ‘I see. Perhaps you’ve heard of the famous ukiyo-e artist, Kitagawa Utamaro?’

‘Are you related?’ What the hell is he even saying?

To Akira’s surprise, Kitagawa smiles and chuckles a little. It’s a nice look. A really nice look. Akira wants to make him smile and laugh more. No, Akira wants to be the one who _makes_ him smile and laugh more. ‘No, not at all. Though, it would be nice if we were. I’m Kitagawa Yusuke. You are?’

Score. Finally, a name to match the face. ‘I’m Kurusu Akira. You’ve probably heard of me.’ Great, it’s only the second day and he’s already getting cockblocked by his reputation.

‘I have,’ Yusuke acknowledges, looking unperturbed. ‘Why the interest in art? It doesn’t seem a very criminal activity.’

When Yusuke speaks, there’s a sense of genuine interest behind his questions, none of the social niceties bullshit that Akira’s started to grow sick of having to playing along with. Then again, the artistic types were always the socially bizarre ones.

‘Even criminals have to be cultured,’ Akira boasts loftily, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulders.

Their brewing conversation is interrupted by a snide remark from the Washida kid. ‘Hey, hey, watch it. I don’t think you have the patience to put both the Andromeda _and_ the Milky Way back together now, do ya? Go be friends somewhere else. I’m busy.’

Yusuke is a very calm person, apparently. ‘Oh, of course. Sorry for the intrusion. We’ll be on our way.’

Akira finds himself trailing behind Yusuke, who leads the way on a meandering path through the studio. It’s a bit like a jungle, which isn’t much of a surprise since it seems to be the second home of twelve teenagers who’ve sold their souls to Ukinoe. The large area is roughly partitioned out into thirteen sections, one main, larger work area in the centre of the room and twelve art-stained desks lined against the walls. Every single one is clearly personalised in some way. Akira walks past the awful ass painting again at some point, but the sight of a small family of plush toys piled onto the table next to it is more than enough to alleviate his sore eyes. He might even admit to having cooed a little.

Yusuke’s space is tucked away in a corner and overflowing with paint supplies. There’s a blank canvas on the table, waiting to be mounted onto an easel. Yesterday’s painting, the red-scarred lotuses, sits near the base of the desk, stacked alongside a variety of filled canvases in all shapes, sizes and colours. The chair is visibly missing. Yusuke leans against the surface of the table and stares at the blank canvas for a moment.

Akira leans against a drawer knob. It digs into his hip, but it’s worth it for the better view of Yusuke’s arms braced against the table, his body casting a long shadow over the white cloth. His brows are furrowed in quiet contemplation.

‘I have a request,’ Yusuke begins, and Akira already knows that he’ll say yes.

He’s got to make sure he doesn’t scare Yusuke away though. Just play along for now. ‘What is it?’ he asks, making sure to sound faintly curious but not overtly interested.

‘Yesterday, you spent most of the session watching me paint.’ Yusuke seems to be trying to pick his words carefully. Crap, why’s he being so delicate about it?

Akira’s on his guard too, now. ‘Yeah. I figured it’d be the fastest way to learn. You know, watching a pro and all.’ It’s true, though. Yusuke really has some talent in art. He must have worked really hard, considering his age. How old is he anyway?

Yusuke frowns, and Akira’s mind snaps back to reality. This seems to be going downhill. Rapidly. ‘You… have no experience?’

‘Oh?’ Wait, this looks like an opening. ‘Yeah, it’s… kinda complicated.’

‘Complicated?’ And this is how Akira learns that Yusuke’s gets wide-eyed when he’s stunned. He really needs to stop staring.

‘Yeah, the principal thinks that drawing will make me… refined? Somehow?’ Now that he thinks about it, he’s not sure how Principal Kobayashi thinks this is going to help at all. ‘She’s making me attend art lessons, even though I don’t think I’m even taking it as a subject. Pretty convenient that the lessons are always so late in the day, though.’

‘That does seem rather strange,’ Yusuke strokes his chin thoughtfully, staring at Akira. Wow, Yusuke has pretty long eyelashes too. ‘No wonder… That intense gaze…’ and just like that Yusuke’s mumbling to himself again, staring at the empty canvas.

‘What about it?’

‘Those eyes…’ he mumbles, lost in his own mind. ‘They would truly make for a fascinating study. There is something I would like to try painting.’ There’s a hesitation weighing down Yusuke’s voice, which makes no sense because Akira is ready to sell his soul to Art. ‘Do you think you would be free to help?’

Yes, please, paint me like one of your French girls. ‘Sure. Do I just sit on the floor, or…?’

Yusuke’s doing that startled wide-eyed thing again. ‘Oh, where are my manners. I’ll get a chair.’

And that’s how Akira finds himself learning the invaluable art of Sitting Very Still. For two whole hours. His body has never felt this sore from doing absolutely nothing at all.

Two hours of watching Yusuke paint him watching Yusuke paint (wow, is that one hell of a phrase) means two hours of _watching Yusuke_. After five minutes of staring, to which Yusuke somehow remains completely oblivious, Akira’s attention wanders freely, from the walls to the other tables to the ceiling to the ass painting (okay, nope, look away now) and then finally back into his own worries about Kamoshida and that strange other world.

A loud clatter breaks his tranquil train of thought. ‘This isn’t working,’ Yusuke sighs, having thrown down his brush with more force than Akira would have ever expected of the seemingly-delicate boy. It almost up-ended his entire palette.

‘Maybe it’s just a bad day,’ Akira suggests, stretching. Something in his spine pops. It’s almost criminally good.

Disappointment persists in Yusuke’s expression. ‘I can’t show this to Sensei…’

‘Sensei? You mean Ukinoe?’

‘No, I have another mentor. It was thanks to him I received my art scholarship.’ There’s a clatter when Yusuke starts to pack his supplies. His frustration is almost palpable.

Akira has no idea how to respond. ‘You’re really giving up?’

Yusuke stops. ‘No, of course not. It’s getting late. I’m going home. You will be here tomorrow, right?’

Right. How did he even get the idea that this guy knew when to give up?

‘I don’t have much choice,’ Akira says wryly, pushing himself off the chair and forcing his legs to hold his weight. They feel like rocks. ‘See you.’

‘Farewell.’ And _of course_ that’s how Yusuke would say his goodbyes.

It takes stumbling over a realistic model of a chicken to snap Akira back to the present. He crouches down to right the sculpture, then makes a beeline for Yusuke’s desk before he can break anything. His bag smacks against a table’s edge.

‘Watch it,’ his bag hisses, then Morgana’s squirming his way up. Before his head can pop out, Akira firmly pushes him back in.

‘You can’t be seen, remember,’ Akira tuts.

‘Hey, let go of me!’ Morgana sounds as if he’s talking through a mouthful of books. ‘Stop slamming me into walls already!’

‘Well sorry I’m not used to having a _cat in my bag_.’

‘I’m not a cat!’ Morgana growls.

He’s about to shoot back a snide reply, then—

Red.

Streaks of bright, angry red.

Akira freezes, all thoughts of Morgana pushed to the back of his mind.

Yusuke looks up, his white uniform bright and cheery in contrast with the darkness swirling in the painting. ‘Oh, Akira,’ he calls in greeting, ‘I’ll be working on a different piece today, so you don’t have to model. I left you one of my old empty sketchbooks.’ He nods at the desk, some distance away from him and his massive, imposing canvas. ‘I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time. I didn’t realise that I was depriving you of the chance to pursue your own art until Sensei mentioned it.’

‘That painting…’ It’s a swirling mass of blacks and greys, interspersed with red like open, gaping wounds. It’s horrific.

He can feel Morgana unzipping the bag from the inside. The cat stays in the bag, though.

For once, Yusuke finds it in himself to hold a conversation while painting. ‘You mentioned art therapy the other day, didn’t you? I thought of giving it a try.’

He resists the urge to ask if Yusuke needs to talk. ‘Is it fun?’ he asks instead.

Yusuke is smiling when he says, ‘It’s much more euphoric than I’d imagined. The freedom to paint without worrying about style, or technique…’

‘Oh yeah, you’re on an arts scholarship, right?’ Akira can’t stop staring at the red. It’s unnervingly human.

‘Indeed.’ Well, at least Yusuke seems pleased with himself. ‘I’ll be done with this in a moment. In the meantime, feel free to use whatever’s on the desk.’

Akira feels a weight spring off his chest once the painting’s out of sight. There’s a chair in front of Yusuke’s desk this time. Is that the one that’s been giving him butt cramps for the past two days?

‘Akira! You’re finally picking up a pencil?’ Ukinoe’s voice sails in, and his body follows shortly after.

By now, Akira’s learned that the fastest way to get rid of him is to keep things simple. He stares at the heap of sketchbooks and various pen-shaped tools. ‘Yeah. Yusuke let me borrow his stuff.’

Ukinoe’s picking out a pencil, eraser, and all sorts of other art supplies. While he tosses them onto the sketchbook in front of Akira, he’s loudly exclaiming, ‘Excellent! Since Yusuke’s clearly not going to— goodness me, what is that!?’

Good to know he’s not the only one creeped out by the painting. ‘It’s art therapy.’ Since Yusuke is otherwise preoccupied, it’s up to Akira to repeat Yusuke’s explanation word-for-word to the horrified teacher.

To his credit, Yusuke doesn’t even raise an eyebrow at the commotion.

‘Err— Okay, like I was saying, maybe you can try drawing Yusuke here! Since he’s not going to move til he’s done.’ Ukinoe picks up a pencil and holds it up to the artist. ‘His proportions should be fairly simple to sketch out. Have fun!’

Akira doesn’t like how the crazy art teacher’s smiling at him. ‘Sure. See you.’

He’s left alone to stare at the blank page. This shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Fifteen minutes later, he’s ready to burn the entire sketchbook. How could making a line look like a line be _so goddamn hard_?

‘So? How is it?’ Yusuke draws nearer to the desk, his brushes wrapped in cloth in his hand, and Akira is ready to weep.

‘It’s so bad, don’t look at it,’ he babbles, slamming it shut and desperately looking around for a paper shredder. Or a fireplace. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was one in this madhouse.

‘I burned my first twenty sketchbooks,’ Yusuke comments flippantly. ‘I’m fairly sure I’ve seen my fair share of bad art.’

Akira pauses. ‘How many pages?’

‘Ninety-six. Each.’

‘Holy shit.’

‘Indeed.’ He’s leaning against the desk, leafing through a familiar book. Fuck, when did he get his hands on that? ‘This isn’t so bad.’

‘Thanks, I tried.’ He really did.

Yusuke looks up when his phone vibrates. He hands the sketchbook back to Akira and picks his phone up, face darkening ever-so-slightly when he opens the message. If Akira hadn’t been staring at Yusuke for days, he doubts he would have been able to recognise it.

‘Sorry, I have to go,’ Yusuke says. The efficiency with which he packs his things is ruthless.

‘Wait, Yusuke,’ Akira calls out before the other boy can go, ‘your sketchbook?’

Yusuke looks surprised. ‘I brought it for you. Actually, wait—’ He pulls out a pencil and scribbles something down on the edge of the book. ‘Here’s my number. In case you have any questions.’

Akira feels a little warm and fuzzy inside. ‘Bye,’ he says hazily.

He’s even fuzzier when he sees a flash of a smile when Yusuke brushes past him. ‘See you.’

 

 

 

 _@Akira_ : Yo.

 _@Ryuji_ : Oh, hey, wassup?

 _@Akira_ : What do cats eat?

 _@Akira_ : ojifEOUUFn

 _@Akira_ : Sorry, that was Morgana. I shut the door on him already.

 _@Ryuji_ : Wow. That’s rough, buddy.

 _@Akira_ : Anyway, I don’t know what to feed him.

 _@Ryuji_ : What about, like, canned food? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen some at the convenience stories.

 _@Akira_ : Dude. You’re a genius.

 _@Ryuji_ : Heh, don’t sweat it.

 _@Akira_ : Also Morgana might try to murder you the next time he sees you so watch out for that.

 _@Akira_ : JIOFfnoifNOf

 

 

 

After a few weeks, Akira concludes that Kosei is run by a bunch of fucking maniacs.

‘Aw, c’mon, it can’t be that bad. ‘Least you don’t have Kamoshida around,’ Ryuji slurps down half his bowl of ramen in no time.

‘If I were in Shujin at least I’d have you guys,’ Akira grumbles, attacking his chashu ramen with more vigour than strictly necessary.

‘Don’t tell me you don’t have any friends in Kosei,’ Ryuji mumbles through a mouthful of noodle. How Akira manages to decipher the string of “nom nom noms,” he’ll never know.

‘It’s different,’ Akira objects. ‘It’s not like I can just turn around in class and start talking to you about Kamoshida, you know.’

‘You’re texting me all the time, isn’t it about the same?’

Akira neatly tears a thin slice of chashu into quarters. ‘That’s like saying just because I text a guy everyday, I’m automatically into him.’

Ryuji pushes his completely-empty bowl away from him with a sigh. ‘Man, sometimes I really don’t know how your mind works.’ Well, that might be a good thing, because Akira doubts Ryuji would want to see inside his mind these days. _Especially_ these days, where all he can think of is—

Akira’s phone buzzes, saving him the trouble of having to respond to Ryuji’s complaint.

He immediately flips it open and speedily types out a reply, ignoring Ryuji for a moment. Once the message is sent, he flips it shut and pockets it again. ‘Sorry, you were saying?’

‘No, just… wondering when we were gonna send the calling card, that’s all.’ Ryuji has never been one for subtlety, and the transparency with which he’s staring at Akira’s pocket only amplifies the curiosity burning in his gaze. It’s a nice look on him, Akira muses. He’s starting to understand why Yusuke enjoys people-watching.

They’re in the middle of discussing improbable battle strategies involving the extended use of Marin Karin and Morgana’s Lucky Punch when Akira’s phone buzzes again.

‘Dude, you’re smiling.’ Akira flicks his gaze up at Ryuji, amused to find suspicion on his face.

‘Having friends is nice,’ Akira agrees vaguely, then hits the send button and showers Ryuji with his full attention once more.

To his credit, it’s only after the seventh message that Ryuji actually does anything about it.

‘Okay man, what’s up with this—’ Ryuji’s holding the phone just out of Akira’s reach, and that’s with him crawling all over Ryuji’s lap, grabbing in the general direction of “up”.

He can feel the rest of the restaurant’s customers staring at them, but he’s got his love life on the line here, public decency can wait. ‘Hey, give it back—’

‘That’s like,’ a click, ‘a thousand messages? In a week!?’ Looks like the cat’s out of the bag. ‘Is this a cute girl? Have you been holding out on me? What the hell is a gouache, bro?’

As if on cue (or just to mock Akira’s entire existence, maybe, like Arsene’s been doing the whole of the past week and a half) Morgana’s head pops out of Akira’s bag. ‘You’re telling me. He’s been texting non-stop all week ever since he got that weird art kid’s number.’

‘He’s not weird,’ Akira gently chides the most-decidedly-not-a-cat creature, then brutally shoves his head back into the bag. Button-mashing, bitches.

Morgana yelps. ‘Hey, stop that!’

‘This is a no-pets establishment,’ Akira chides the bag.

‘It’s a guy?’ For a second, Ryuji looks so lost that it’s almost cute. ‘You’re into guys?’

Akira carefully pairs a quarter of chashu with a spoonful of ramen and soup. ‘I’m into anything, really. Except head-eating asses. _That_ ’s where I draw the kinkshame line.’

‘Wait—’ Ryuji sounds as if his entire world has been flipped upside-down and inside-out. Which can’t be, because for one thing, Akira is just a small if significant part of Ryuji’s world, and for another, it’s Akira’s stomach that’s been flipped around for the past week or so. ‘So, back in that palace, with that Silky—’

It’s his turn to talk around a mouthful of ramen. ‘Why would I kid about being into men?’

‘I thought you were just tryna make a joke, man!’ Ryuji’s got his hands in his hair now. He looks decidedly frazzled. It’s an interesting look on him.

Akira swallows. ‘Is that going to be a problem?’ he asks mildly.

‘What? No, ‘course not.’ Ryuji’s giving off that aura of a kicked puppy. The kind that actually makes Akira _feel_ bad for being an ass. ‘Did you think I’d be like that?’

It’s an openly hurt question.

Akira’s smiling, but he can’t hide the bitter twist to it. ‘I’ve only known you a couple weeks. You never know.’

They sit in silence for a few seconds, letting the unspoken words settle—not ignoring, no, never ignoring, because they would never ignore a single part of each other. Tolerate, adore, detest— oh, and it was easy to detest, but far more difficult to turn a blind eye to the other’s faults. No, this was acknowledgement, giving the quiet confession the space to breathe and bloom and grow into something delicate and probing.

‘So what’s the guy like?’ Ryuji is the one who takes a tentative leap, and Akira has never been more grateful for someone in his life. ‘I don’t know if I could relate but, y’know, if you wanna show off, I’ll listen.’

He can feel the smile creeping onto his face again, but this time it’s not just because of Yusuke.

‘He’s sweet and passionate. I think he might literally eat, sleep and breathe art. I know for a fact he drinks it because I’ve seen him drink from his paint water twice already. He’s a little bit dense and his mind works in really bizarre ways but somehow it just makes him even more endearing. Also he’s tall and skinny and I think he’s the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen,’ Akira sighs. ‘Prettier than me even, maybe.’

Ryuji looks floored. ‘Wow, dude, you are _fucked_.’

He buries the urge to laugh, especially since Ryuji’s clearly trying so hard. But still, no shit, Ryuji, thanks for the obvious— Obvious, huh? Now that’s an idea.

Akira sighs dreamily again, a swooning exaggeration to drive home his point. ‘Well if it’s him doing the fucking—’

Just like he expects, Ryuji’s shoving a spoonful of ramen down his throat (okay no he didn’t really expect this part, that kind of hurts, _ow_ ) and choking out, ‘Okay no you made it weird please shut up we’re in _public_ —’

 

 

 

 _@Ann_ : It’s getting a little too close to the deadline… We should send the calling card soon.

 _@Ryuji_ : Man, I hope we don’t get expelled…

 _@Akira_ : We’ll be fine, there’s plenty of time.

 _@Ann_ : Why aren’t we sending it out yet? What’s more important than this anyway?

 _@Akira_ : Relax. There’s still a week to go before the deadline.

 _@Ryuji_ : Oh, I get it now. This is why I’ve been getting stood up, isn’t it?

 _@Ann_ : What are you talking about?

 _@Ryuji_ : He’s got a new friend at Kosei. A real pal.

 _@Ann_ : Why wouldn’t he have friends…?

 _@Ryuji_ : It’s a Friend. A special capitally-F-ed friend.

 _@Ann_ : I feel like I’m missing something here…

 _@Akira_ : I’ll tell you when we meet up. It might take a while to explain though.

 _@Ryuji_ : Yeah, ‘cos you’re too busy appreciating fine art right now, aren’t you?

 _@Akira_ : There’s a reason we don’t let you near the masterpieces, Ryuji.

 _@Ryuji_ : Hey! Why me?

 _@Ann_ : You guys…

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> References:  
> Kobayashi – the better version of Kobayakawa, duh  
> Ukinoe – a really stupid pun on ukiyoe, a distinctive Japanese art style in the Edo period  
> Ahokusai – a terrible pun on Katsushika Hokusai, the man who drew the most famous Japanese painting of the waves  
> ...have that boy. Sexually. – A homage to a fic that I love so much that it probably influenced this work in ways I didn’t even realise  
> Washida – washi is a type of Japanese paper  
> Ki-ta-ga-wa – the famous Lolita quote
> 
>  
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/_antikytheras)


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